The next morning, Chizzy woke to pale light leaking through the curtains, her skin still chilled from the night before. She hadn't dreamed—at least, not that she could remember. But the unease hadn't left her. It coiled in her gut like something waiting.
She dressed quickly and stepped outside, needing air. Ebonvale looked different in the daylight—less haunted, more hollow. The fog had lifted, revealing weathered fences and long-abandoned gardens. A few villagers milled about, though they all stilled when they saw her.
Eyes followed her as she walked past the bakery, the church, the rusted well near the center of the square. People whispered behind cupped hands, pretending they weren't watching her every move. She remembered this feeling. It had followed her after the fire. They had always looked at her like she was cursed. And maybe, in some way, she was.
A woman outside the florist's shop dropped her bouquet when she met Chizzy's eyes. The flowers spilled onto the ground—white lilies and black violets. Chizzy stooped to help, but the woman stepped back, hands trembling.
"You shouldn't have come back," the woman whispered, barely audible. Then she turned and hurried inside.
Chizzy straightened slowly, staring after her. The petals were crushed beneath her boots.
A voice startled her from behind.
"Small towns have long memories."
She turned. A man stood a few paces away, tall and clean-cut, with eyes the color of old whiskey. He didn't smile. He didn't flinch. Unlike the others, he met her gaze head-on.
"You knew my aunt?" Chizzy asked.
He nodded. "Everyone knew Maura. She kept to herself. Just like you used to."
There was something unreadable in his expression—curiosity laced with caution. She didn't like how he looked at her. Like she was a puzzle that might be dangerous to solve.
"I'm Chizzy."
"I know." He paused. "I'm Elias. I live down near the orchard."
"Were you... here? When it happened?"
He didn't need her to explain. The fire. The whispers.
"I was."
He looked at her for a long moment, then said, "You should be careful. The house remembers more than you think."
Then he walked away, leaving her with the ruined flowers, the judging stares, and the growing certainty that her return had awakened something best left sleeping.